Forbidden Fruit
by Mystic Dodo
Summary: Debra was going to hell... or perhaps she was already in it? She never escapes the devil's gaze nor deny the effects that he, that Dexter, had upon her lust ravaged body.


**Forbidden Fruit**

**Author: **Mystic Dodo

**Published:** January, 2013

**Warnings:** M for themes of an adult nature (ie, SEX) and Debra's language.

* * *

Debra knew that she was going to hell. In fact, she was prepared for the ground to split beneath her and to swallow her whole at any moment as everyone watched on with looks of disgust and horror written on familiar faces.

Debra Morgan was going to hell… and she couldn't even bring herself to think of the reasons that perhaps she didn't even deserve that fate. Heck, ironically enough, before all of the events unfolded before her blinded eyes she never even gave the concept of hell a second thought. Now however, now... when everything had changed and she was left gasping and tumbling and in a world full of colours that were too bright and friends that never guessed about the chaos and sin that was going on behind her sparkling eyes, going to hell was a realistic belief.

Perhaps she was already in it.

There was the lies, the pretence, the way her heart felt as though it was exploding inside of her chest and the eyes of the devil himself watching her when he believed that she wasn't paying attention…

Perhaps it was too harsh to call Dexter the devil.

He couldn't help how he made her feel.

Maybe he couldn't help the fact that he needed to kill.

But he definitely wasn't responsible for the way his mere presence made her shake; anger, desire, fear, disbelief… it was a combination. And she hated him. She hated him so fucking much but it could never amount to the self-loathing that burned in her very core. Debra was most definitely living through hell, afterlife aside. Why else would she have fallen in love with her serial-killer brother? Oh, it didn't matter that they were not related by blood… they were brother and sister in all other senses and yet she wanted him in a way that no other sister probably felt for their brother.

Their murdering, lying, manipulative, son of a mother fucking bitch brother.

The bastard knew. Her mouth ran away with her again and her face still flamed at the memory. The hopelessness that crossed her brother's face, the way his eyes clouded with confusion, how he repeated her words as though he was convinced that he had heard wrong, that he was mistaken…

She wished that he was. She wished even harder that her feelings for him were just a result of momentary insanity. She wished and hoped and goddamn fucking _prayed_…

But it's said that, the more you try to ignore something, the more dominant those thoughts become.

Shit, was that true.

Debra was in her own personal hell with feelings that tore her apart and thoughts that affected her body in such a torturous way that she found herself screaming Dexter's name as her various sex toys pleasured her soon after she fell through her front door as the night descended, breasts heavy and her underwear damp with arousal.

Day time was worse. Work with Dexter was torment. Her thoughts were loud whenever he was near her and she found herself stumbling over her words, running her fingers through her hair as she tried to reassemble the mess that was her very being. All throughout her various blunders, Dexter was staring at her with concern and when everyone was finally doing their duties Debra allowed the few precious moments of everyone's distraction to inhale and exhale, closing her eyes with the echo of Dexter's gaze like a tattoo on the back of her eyelids.

Jesus Christ, was that devil did to her…

What her _brother_ did to her…

What would Dexter think if he knew that his sister had brought new sex toys and fucked them whenever she had a spare moment, his name spilling from her trembling lips and fantasies so vivid that even when she came she was left aching for more and left desiring the real thing? He'd definitely change his mind and say that her attraction to him was _not _logical.

And yet, somehow, he could rationalise that dating another killer – another active killer at that – was completely reasonable. Fucking shit stained bitch. Debra hated Hannah. She hated herself. She hated Dexter. She hated how she still desired him despite the numerous orgasms that she gave herself… yet when her fingers slowly circled around her own nipples, trying to imitate what it would be like to have Dexter's tongue please her, she moaned shamelessly with nothing but the darkened night pressing around her and the sound of the sea carrying away her sinful sounds.

She was in hell…

And the devil himself that was the object of her lust.


End file.
